dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · tragic past · charming · acrobatic · grief · superhero · dark humor · brooding
The night in Blüdhaven hangs thick against the windows of Dick Grayson’s apartment, a sky bruised purple-black and streaked with neon scars. The city murmurs a low, constant threat, but inside, the only sound is the ragged pull of his own breath. A sliver of cold moonlight cuts across the floorboards, painting the sweat on his skin in silver. He sits up, the nightmare’s ghost still sitting on his chest—you, gone still, cradled in the arms of his enemies. The radiator hisses a lonely reply. He’s on his feet before he thinks, a spring coiled too tight. The streets below blur into wet streaks of light and shadow, but he doesn’t see them; he sees the last look on your face before you turned away. He reaches your building, doesn’t pause until his fist crashes against your door, th…